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Welcome to the Cluttered Desk!
Greetings to you all! We are five adventurers in the strange and challenging world of writing.
We call ourselves Poverty's Penmen, and, as we've adopted each other, we are now of the clan Inkfire.
I will introduce us in order of age.
The old codger among us is Theynore (I do mean that nicely). He is originally from Prethamia,
though he spent some time in Galicia. His mad pistol skills keep the villans at bay when they attack us.
He catches spelling mistakes and his skilled begging helps us reach various deadlines.
Theynore's Desk Drawer
The next oldest is Isilwen. She is recorder of Hemlock (though she writes other tales as well),
and is the only one of us (so far) that is published. Her book "Trouble in the Tomb" came out in 2007.
When the villans escape, she uses her overly-long sword to fight them, and her craziness keeps us all laughing.
Isilwen's Desk Drawer
And then there's me. Yep, I'm the one writing this: the Sarconian Elf turned blog secratary. When the villans get out,
I fight them with my invisible sword, and I may be the only authoress who has married a character. As an 'old married lady',
I try to keep the others in line.
Justyne's Desk Drawer
After me comes my almost-twin, Kantare. He's a Trinitian Master from Trinity and had the idea for this blog.
The villans have steered clear of him so far. He lives to the east, and we don't make c-box contact much
(we're going to kidnap him), but he's added alot to our conversation and plots.
Kantare's Desk Drawer
The youngest (but not least) of us is Ninwaii (given that I have the ages right). She is also from the land of Trinity,
and is actually the daughter of King Jorian. The villans have stayed away from her as well. Due to time-zone differences,
we don't talk with her much (yet ANOTHER kidnapping), but she is deffinately a valuble cohert.
There are also many characters running about here, most usually, it seemes, Jordaan, Joshuel, Thoene, Striker and Callan.
They are often joined by their coherts and have been known to be utterly crazy. Be wary, and don't let Thoene get near the tabasco sauce.
Nov. 14, 2009 Prelude to an Ambush
They traveled slowly the next day as Anyia scanned the area for the Cardemoni warriors. There were none, but that was to be expected, for as far north as they were. Growing tired of overcooked or badly made food, Anyia took over the cooking. There were protests, but a glare and an excellent meal served to silence all of them. Four days out, Anyia warned Captain Orin that there was a party of Cardemoni about a day's travel ahead of them.
That night was one of nervous tension. Darphinland was a peaceful country, and so even these professionals had never seen live combat against foreign invaders from the south. They sharpened their swords feverishly, then moved on to their arrows, checking the individual fletching and sharpening the points. Anyia sat nervously by as they peered down the shafts to ensure that they were perfectly straight. Except for her power, she was completely unarmed, and if the enemy realized that it was she who was warning the party of their movements, she would quickly be killed. It was an unnerving thought, and she wished that she could stay behind, out of the danger, and just send signals to them. But there was no way that what she wished to say would get there fast enough.
The next morning, she strapped on the molded leather corset as firmly as possible and wrapped her braid around her head. Casting about nervously for a weapon, her eyes fell on a long, thick stick that was nearly perfectly straight. Picking it up, Anyia felt an immediate liking for the sturdy feel of the wood. She held it firmly in her hand, but had to jump up onto a rock to mount her horse. Thus feeling safer, she set off at in the middle of the party, filtering out the themes of the men around her and focusing on the theme of the nearby Cardemoni.
The theme got stronger as they grew closer, but Anyia was uneasy; for though she could hear the theme of the Cardemoni, the woods around were silent, and there was no sign of anyone but themselves.
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Nov. 4, 2009 Fist Fight from 'The Soundtrack'
Anyia rose and took Ryan's arm, and he guided her out the back door of the chapel, around a house, and back to the inn, hoping to avoid those who waited for Anyia on the porch. It seemed that they had skirted them all. Then a theme approached. Anyia moaned. It was, Alden, the blacksmith's apprentice. The tall, muscular boy swaggered up to the pair and gave Ryan a contemptuous shove in the shoulder. "Get on home, boy. I shall escort the lady there...the long way."
Anyia only hung a little closer to Ryan and continued walking.
Alden backhanded Ryan, causing him to stumble. "Didn't you hear me?!" he yelled.
Ryan did not even spare the other boy a glance, only continued walking.
Furious, Alden grabbed him by the collar and threw him backwards. "I said, GO HOME!"
Ryan rose and offered his arm to Anyia again, once more ignoring Alden.
Alden, filled with rage, seized Ryan and threw him onto the ground, hard. Then he firmly took Anyia's arm. "I will escort you home."
Anyia pulled away. "I would prefer you not."
"Anyia-" Alden stepped forward, but was gently shoved back by Ryan's weaker but firm hand.
"Did you not hear the lady?" Ryan inquired.
"Did you not hear me?" Alden mimicked contemptuously. "Stay out of this! It's none of your affair!"
"Anyia is under my protection," Ryan replied calmly. "As her protector, I must see that her wishes are respected."
Alden glared at him. "I will escort her home."
"You will not," said Anyia.
Ryan arched an eyebrow. "You heard her. She will not." He held out his arm to Anyia again.
Alden ground his teeth in furry, drew back his beefy fist, and hit Ryan hard in the jaw. The smaller boy fell flat, slightly stunned. "Ryan!" Anyia shrieked, leaping towards him.
Alden caught her arm and jerked her back. "Don't bother with him; he's not worth it."
It was Anyia's turn to to the clouting, and she drew back her small fist and threw all her weight into a punch against Alden's nose, which bled from the impact. His eyes widened, then grew dark and angry. Stepping forwards impetuously, he slapped Anyia. With a wild cry of rage, Ryan leaped onto Alden's back and began punching him furiously. Alden flung him back into the dust and kicked him in the ribs. Ryan rolled away and came to his feet again. He and Alden eyed each other, then flew at each other once more. Anyia immediately saw that Ryan had the worst of the fight, but he was fast and was returning bruises for those he received. Then Alden hit him hard in the stomach and Ryan doubled over and went to his knees, gasping.
Rules of hand to hand combat required that Alden move off and allow Ryan to get back up, but he kicked him in the face instead. Ryan grabbed Alden's ankles and jerked his feet out from under him. Alden rolled on top of Ryan, trying to pin him. Ryan wriggled away and got, staggering, to his feet again, all too obviously beaten, yet still eying his opponent with defiance and contempt. Alden walked into him, swinging, and Ryan fell, semiconscious. Even then, Alden did not relent; grabbing the unresisting boy by the shirt, he threw him against the ground again.
"STOP!" Anyia screamed.
"You stay out of this, woman!" Alden roared.
"I will not! He's down! If you go any further, you'll kill him!"
Alden shook a finger in her face. "Once you are my wife, you'll learn not to meddle in my affairs!"
"You know what I think of that?" Anyia demanded, angry, as Alden turned back to finish off Ryan.
Alden turned back to her. "What?"
Anyia kicked him where she knew it would hurt the most. "That!" She leaned over Alden as he fell. "I will NEVER marry you, you infamous lump of...of...indescribably disgusting matter!" Casting her gaze about, she saw a long stick and, seizing it, brought it down on Alden's shoulders. "Take that! And that! And that! Scum! Recreant! You hurt Ryan and you deal with me!"
"And me!" Anyia turned, and saw to her relief that Colton was there. The carpenter's apprentice walked quickly forward. "Get up, and let us finish this like men, if you're capable of that."
Alden got up. "Alright then. I'll pound you into the dust instead of Ryan. No difference; you two are on the same level."
"And I'm proud of it!" Colton yelled. "That unhired servant has more class that you could ever hope for!"
Roaring, Alden swung at Colton's head. Colton ducked and drove his shoulder into the other boy, knocking him flat on his back. Alden got up and rushed Colton again, only to be flung back to the ground; while Alden had brawn, Colton had both muscle and skill. Alden's attacks grew increasingly reckless as his furry escalated. Colton, while obviously angry, retained his calm and merely beat the other to the ground at every turn. Finally he tackled him and pinned him to the ground, twisting his arm. "Yield you!" Colton hollered.
Alden squirmed and howled, but at long last cried, "Yield!"
Colton threw him across the dust into a heap at Anyia's feet. "Now ask the lady's forgiveness!"
Alden threw him a furious glance, grinding his teeth again. "I ask your forgiveness," he muttered sullenly.
Anyia whirled on her heel and stalked away to where Ryan lay.
Colton siezed Alden by the shirt collar and shoved him against the nearest wall. "You listen to me. If I ever see or hear of you hurting Anyia or Ryan, I will pummel you, do you understand? Today will seem like child's play compared to what I'll do! Now clear out!"
Alden stumbled off up the street, seething. Colton turned to Ryan and Anyia. "Anyia? Is he okay?"
Anyia knelt over Ryan's unconscious form for a moment, then looked up at Colton. "I don't know."
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Sep. 20, 2009 Crazy Strianelian Coronations....
A week later, Tell and Josephina were officially crowned King and Queen of Strianel. The tall columns glistened in the sunlight that streamed through the circles of glass set into the ceiling of the Great Hall of Evenvinder. Only one, long isle was clear, all the rest of the room was packed with people. Balconies were lifted above those on the main floor of the hall, and these too were filled with people. Garlands of flowers twisted around the columns, the empty thrones, and anywhere else that they could be placed. These were accented by white peacock feathers that looked like strange snowflakes. Petals drifted down here and there, showering the shoulders of those below.
Jasper shifted uncomfortably. He was wearing the formal robes of the chieftain of the SyDow, and he felt as if he were being roasted alive over a campfire. The first part of the costume was mostly normal: pants tucked into knee-high leather boots and an off-white fencing shirt. It was the second part of the outfit that gave Jasper woe. The purple velvet tunic that he wore over the shirt was fur-lined. This gave it a magnificent fur edging at each hem, but also made it unreasonably warm . Over that was a long cape, also lined with fur, that was fastened at the shoulder with a large circular broach with beautiful tracings of filigree. The cloak was a rich, deep blue that Jasper liked, but its warmth threatened to render him unconscious. To top everything off, he wore a wide circlet of hammered gold that was studded with gems.
Misty stood beside Jasper, dressed in red satin. The dress was long and full and seemed to float about her. The girdle was of cut glass beads threaded on strands of silver that were braided together. It caught every facet of light, casting rainbows of color about her. Misty's hair was piled beautifully on her head and laced with strands of diamonds. Her cloak was deep purple and embroidered with fantastic designs, but its lining of black fur was causing her sweat slightly. Misty took a signet ring that she held, slipped it onto one of Jasper's fingers, and kissed his hand, making her movements flamboyant. Several people seemed to notice the exchange, and Jasper and Misty were satisfied.
Jasper was not chieftain of the SyDow by birth; it was Misty's family that filled the role. But Misty was the last of her line, so Jasper, her husband-to-be, was required, by law, to take the role of chief. Only now did Jasper understand the level of respect that Misty's father must have had for him. By giving Misty to Jasper as his betrothed, Fredrick Johnson had named Jasper as his heir instead of Misty. Misty, by handing over the signet ring at a random time during the coronation, showed that it was with her full agreement that Jasper became of the chieftain in her stead. These realizations had caused Jasper to rethink all his actions since his parents had died. He had spent a great deal of time the night before talking about them with his closest friends, starting with his running away from his guardians. In retrospect, it seemed to be a miserably ungrateful action.
"Ungrateful or not," Jonathan had told him, however, "you acted without intention of insult. You did not know what Fredrick had bestowed upon you. All you knew was that both you and Misty were unhappy. What you did, you did for the happiness of the woman - or more correctly, girl - that was betrothed to you, and no one can demonize a man for doing that."
Jasper figured that Jonathan was right, and he found it hard to regret his decision to come to the mountains. Much had happened to him because of that decision that would have not happened otherwise, most of it good. Still, he wished that Fredrick Johnson was still living so that he could apologize for running away.
A thud startled Jasper from his reverie, and he looked up to see that Tell had entered the room through a door at the side of the dais, followed by a boring-looking man in a black robe. The man opened a thick book and called out in a near-monotone, "Who speaketh for the Sarconians?"
Jack, who was on the other side of the hall from Jasper, stepped forward. "I do."
"By what right?"
"By the right of my father, Alex, whose father was Steven..." and Jack named his whole linage back to Jason, the younger brother of Queen Amara.
"Are there any descended directly from the Queen Amara?" asked the man in the robe.
"There are no closer kin than that of her younger brother; the queen never married."
The man looked over the thick, old book and said, "It is proper. The council recognizes thy right to speak for thy people." The man then looked around and said, "Who here speaketh for the ConVal tribe?"
A short, fat man robed in bright green came forward. "I do."
"By what right?"
"By the right of my father, Conrad, whose father was Bryan -" the man named his linage, ending with, "whose father was Owyn, who spoke at the First Council."
"It is proper," said the man in the robe. He put a hand over his mouth, hiding a yawn. "The council recognizes thy right to speak for thy people. Who here speaks for the ConYav tribe?"
A tall, thin man stepped from the crowd. "I do."
"By what right?"
"By the right of mine father Edgar..." this linage was longer, and the man spoke in a monotone. He at last ended with, "whose father was Luft, who spoke at the First Council."
The man in the black robe affirmed his right to speak for the tribe, then moved on to the next tribe, the VenTal tribe. Their chieftan lightened the mood somewhat by reciting the names with some vigour. Next was the VenDoi tribe, then the VenNon. Last to be called upon were the SyKen, the SyOnt and the SyDow tribes. "Who speaks for the SyDow tribe?" asked the man at last, his voice even more bored than before.
Jasper came forward. "I do."
"By what right?"
"By right of my wife's linage." Though Jasper and Misty were not yet wed, for the purposes of the tribal council, betrothal and marriage were one in the same. "Her father was Fredrick, his father was Rick..." and Jasper named all Misty's ancestors back to, "John, who spoke at the First Council."
The man in the black robe showed the slightest bit of interest. "Is thy wife her family's only heir?"
"Yes."
"Was thy marriage arranged in proper order by your fathers or those who had guardianship over thee?"
"Yes."
"Has thy wife given thee the signet ring of her father?"
"Yes."
"Who beareth witness?" asked the man. "Who didst see her place it on his finger?"
Seven people stepped from the crowd and said that they had.
"Very well," said the man. "It is proper. The council recognizes thy right to speak for thy tribe."
The man scanned the crowd, then called out, "Does Tell ConRay appear here today as a representative of his tribe?"
All those of the ConRay tribe shouted, "Yes!" Some of the knights clashed their swords on their shields to punctuate the statement.
"By law, he is king in place of his father. Do the chieftains accept him?"
"Let council be held," said the fat man in green who was chieftain of the ConVal tribe.
Much to Jasper's relief, chairs were brought in for the chieftains to sit in, and servants entered with cool drinks. Misty perched on the wide arm of Jasper's chair, waving a small fan as fast as protocol allowed. After half an hour of debate that was actually the edited recounting of the debate that had gone on at the First Council, the chieftains rose in turn to give the speeches of their ancestors.
The fat man in green rose to his feet. "Ever our people have been wandering tribes, each tending to their own affairs. All this is well and good, but the world is changing. Enemies rise up against us, wanting to crush us and rule our lands. If we are divided, they will break us one by one. But if we become one union, we will stand! Here is one willing to lead us. Let him do so! Without him, we will all perish in quicker time. The ConVal tribe says, 'Yes! Tell ConRay shall be our king! ' "
Jack stood. Sweat was beaded on his forehead, for he sat in the sun, and the long, heavy robes he wore were no help to him. "For ages beyond count, my family has ruled. We have fought for our freedom from Corvan, and we have gained it. But only for the nonce. Once we were great, but now we are small, and our power is quenchable. This union will bring strength and give us all a better chance of survival. The Sarconian throne is mine, but I hereby relinquish it and vow that I shall never rise against the royal family unless they commit unforgivable atrocity against their people. The Sarconians will take Tell ConRay as their king."
Jasper nearly fell asleep during the next six speeches. He was sorry to listen as once-stirring words were recited with no emotion. It was a sad fate, for the speeches were, in themselves, quite wonderful. But one could hardly listen to them, so dull they seemed. The room grew hotter. The flowers drooped, and several women fainted, as well as a few of the men. Jasper went into a half trance, occasionally feeling Misty mop his face with a kerchief. Many of the more pompous chiefs felt that it was necessary to add to the words of their ancestors, and therefore took long periods of time with their speeches. At last, it was Jasper's time to speak. He rose slowly, swallowing against the lump in his throat.
"The sun rises, the sun sets, and ever the world changes. Once my people had respect. Now a slave may garner more respect than we, the SyDow, the 'Last Ones." But we are not here to speak of past wrongs. We are here to choose a king. The SyDow know that change must come. But let it not come in full. Let us bring the new, but keep what is good in the old, allowing the fresh to reinforce the temper of our nation. SyDow, 'Last Ones,' we are called. Last in what? None has ever said. But let it be said now that we will be the last ones to abandon loyalty to our king! Tell ConRay shall rule us, and may the Lord watch over his reign." Jasper held out his right hand, palm out. "Hail, king."
Tell turned, lifted his face to heaven, and said, "Hail, Lord."
This rather set everyone off balance, for Jasper had edited the speech. He was supposed to have said, "may the gods watch over his reign," and then Tell would have hailed the gods, at which point several priests and priestesses would have thrown themselves to to trances and started screaming gibberish. The high priest would have supposedly translated their wild rantings, blessed the king, and then crowned him. Now Jasper had muddled the proceedings, the high priest was turning purple with rage, and no one knew exactly what to do. In the growing confusion, a young Sarconian Scout stepped forward and, with his voice cracking slightly, asked the people if they would permit him to lead them in prayer. There were no protests, so the young man bowed his head and spoke a simple prayer, asking the Lord to bless everyone present, bless everyone not present, and give the king wisdom to rule. Then he prayed that the high priest be spared from a heart attack and that rain might fall on the land. As he finished, the wind picked up outside, and clouds began to gather, causing murmurs to spread through the crowd.
Everyone was still confused, however. The high priest had stormed out during the prayer, and since he was the one who was to have done the crowning, no one was exactly certain who should do the job. A loud 'smack' added to everyone's agony. During the dull proceedings, the two pages carrying the crowns had begun a conversation. It had turned into a quarrel and had now come to blows; they were slapping each other in turn. A frustrated knight stepped in and boxed their ears, but the atmosphere was still tense. At last, the lad who was carrying the king's crown lost his patience for the second time that day. "I don't know about the rest of you," he said, "But I am tired and hot and really want this to be over. Who's going to crown the king?" No one answered. The chieftains looked at each other, each thinking of a reason why he was qualified. The boy sighed in exasperation. "Fine! I'll do it. Kneel, Mr. king, sir, I'm not tall enough to get this crown on your head otherwise." Everyone gasped at the child's impertinence, but Tell, with a smile, dropped to one knee. The boy placed the crown very neatly on his head. "Well, that makes you king, and I figure you'll be good at it, since you've been prayed over and since you're obviously very patient to have listened to all that." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the robed man and the chieftains, then bowed stiffly and backed away.
Jasper and Jack grinned at each other across the room, then called out, "Hail, king," and dropped to one knee. Everyone else in the room shrugged, then followed suit.
Tell scanned the crowd as they rose. The first king of Strianel, Timothy the First, had asked his beloved, Victoria Breaker, to marry him during the coronation. Ever since then, the king's queen-to-be would stand in the crowd with her tribe, whether she was already married to the king or not, and he would come and find her. Tell finally found Josephina and made his way towards her. She dropped into a deep curtsy as he approached. Tell sank to one knee, bringing himself eye-level with her. "Josephina ConRay, will you do me the honor of being my queen?"
"With all my heart," said Josephina.
They rose together, and Tell, taking Josephina by the hand, led her to the dais. After enduring a long questioning from the robed man that confirmed beyond a doubt that they were legally wed, Tell called the page holding Josephina's crown forward. The queen's crown was a wreath of silver roses and gold filagree in the shape of peacock feathers. Josephina looked quite lovely in it and everyone cheered her heartily. The king and queen now took their seats on the throne and, one by one, the chieftains swore fealty to them. There was more cheering, and Tell gave a speech about what he would do for the country as its king. Then they were all released to the banquet hall for the feast as a gentle rain started to fall.
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Jul. 8, 2009 Prologue From Underground
I has finisheded it: the prologue from Underground. Of course, the whole thing will lead to the THIRD rewrite, but hey, at least it got done.....
"For the Statist, liberty is not a blessing but the enemy. It is not possible to achieve Utopia if individuals are free to go their own way. The individual must be dehumanized and his nature delegitimized. Through persuasion, deception, and coercion, the individual must be subordinated to the state. He must abandon his own ambitions for the ambitions of the state. He must become reliant on and fearful of the state. His first duty must be to the state-not family, community, and faith, all of which have the potential of threatening the state." -Mark Levin 'Liberty and Tyranny'
November, 2008 - Barack Obama is elected President of the United States
April 15, 2009 - Tea Parties are held nation-wide to protest higher taxes and bigger government. The silent majority aroused by the mounting usurpations and the recent election no longer remains silent and the situation escalates.
Sometime in the near future......
Texas has seceded, and other states are threatening to join them. Desperate to maintain control, the now-massive federal government has attempted to bribe and threaten the other states and lock down on education, frantic to indoctrinate the next generation into docile servitude. Furious parents and student bodies resist agressive government intervention, and thousands begin to move to Texas. This is swiftly followed by the closing of the US/Texas border. Those attempting to enter or leave the state are shot indiscriminately. A border war erupts as the citizens of Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Arkansas and New Mexico resist the agents. Immigration to Texas continues as a network of Undergrounders begin to smuggle people out of the United States.
In the US, horrified citizens watch as a seemingly omnipresent government seizes their freedoms with no explanation. Regulations skyrocket, and the number of angry citizens grows drastically. Reaction to the rouge government is varied. Many large groups move into a state of civil disobedience. Other communities call out their militia and openly fight the government. The president orders troops to put down the rebellions, but the military itself is in a state of disorder. Massive numbers of soldiers simply refuse to march on their own countrymen, and in most cases, their superiors support them firmly. Attempts to court-martial are frequently thwarted by the sheer number of cases and the horde of furious generals. Troops begin to disappear by the thousands, and though the government says that they were shot for mutiny, it is rumored that they are acting covertly to protect the citizens from mounting tyranny.
It would seem as if the rumors are true. Agents attempting to raid homes are being ambushed by a mysterious, highly-trained enemy. The government employees become cautious, even frightened, and, as government control begins to slip in certain areas, militias take over, battling the government and each other for control. Every government crackdown attempt is violently halted by citizens utilizing gurilla methods. Senator Hillary Clinton brings the 30th Amendment before Congress, a bill that will effectively overturn the 2nd Amendment in the name of stopping the Rebels and bringing peace. Within two weeks, the amendment passes and is ratified.
The passing of the amendment is answered with increased violence. Most people refuse to surrender their weapons and fire upon those sent to confiscate them. The right to bear arms is literally being slowly pried from the cold, dead hands of American citizens. People begin disappear in large numbers, and despite the government's every attempt to tell the public that those who disappear are being imprisoned, nearly everyone knows the truth. A group called the Resistance Force, supposedly headed by a former Pentagon official, is setting up bases in the Rocky and Appalachian Mountains, as well as the canyons of Utah. Some of the most brilliant minds in every field are with them, and if you have crossed the government, they are likely to find and help you. Their mission? To overthrow the renegade government and restore the Constitutional United States - and the Federals will do anything to stop them.
Tucker Smith dropped into a bush, his dark brown eyes wildly scanning the street in front of him. "There he is!!" came the yell. "Truant! Get him!" Leaping to his feet, Tucker fled, picking his way through yards in an attempt to throw off pursuit. The small hand-gun hidden inside his jacket seemed to burn his chest. With the city swaying between the control of government forces, a few petty militias, and a powerful organization called Dirk's Revenge, he needed the weapon to defend himself. However, it had been purchased late one night from a black market dealer after the 30th Amendment had been passed, and now, if he was caught - a staunch young Rebel who was closely affiliated with the quickly growing Resistance Force, playing truant from government school, carrying an illegal weapon, and partially responsible for smuggling at least ten different families across the US/Texas border - well, the possibility of him being shot right then and there was not unlikely.
Machine gun fire tore up the ground around his feet, and he ran faster, following an erratic zig-zag pattern. Too close, they were too close. He dodged into a doorway, pulled out the handgun, and fired in the general direction of the pursuit, shaking too much to aim properly. The agents dropped against the pavement of the street, cursing. "D-- Rebel!" yelled the sergeant in command. His voice rose in pitch with his anger, flying almost into a falsetto as he screeched, "Shoot him! Shoot him!" Tucker fired twice more at the agents before the door swung open and he was jerked inside by a young woman.
"Quickly," said the girl holding onto his arm. "Out that window there! I'll scream, say you attacked me, pretend to go into hysterics and trip the agents up! GO!"
"Thanks," Tucker gasped as he jumped out the window and ran. More cursing erupted from the house behind him as the girl screamed and started her hysterical female act.
This is the nice thing about being a part of the Resistance, Tucker thought as he raced down the streets. Most everyone is on your side. Many a trash heap was 'accidentally' overturned behind him onto the rushing agents, and those who dared leaned out their windows to give him encouragement, filling the air with rebel yells and age-old slogans from the days of the revolution. Guided by warnings from the residents of the subdivision, he turned his steps towards Three-fold Parish. Three-fold covered a quarter of the city and was controlled entirely by Dirk's Revenge. Tucker did not trust Dirk's Revenge. They had been known to hand Rebels over to the government if the reward was big enough; however, there was no substantial reward on his head, only a couple hundred thousand dollars last time he checked, which wasn't much when one factored in inflation. Tucker suspected that the Revenge would probably shoot the agents for their own purposes and ignore him entirely.
The borders of Three-fold Parish loomed in front of him: a pile of burned out, collapsed buildings laced with barbed wire, mines, and dead things. Bullets ricocheted around him, whining past his ears, screaming of sudden, violent death. He passed the reek of the border and entered the Parish. The street was covered with grass-filled cracks, and the empty houses were pocked with bullets and shrapnel.
A row of black-clad gunmen from Dirk's Revenge emerged from a boarded-up house, taking positions behind crates on either side of the street. Tucker tripped on a loose board as he came upon them, and they dragged him unceremoniously behind the barricade. Tucker began to rise, intending to run on, but two of the men promptly trained their guns on him. Tucker obediently remained lying on the ground as the agents chasing him came cautiously up the street. The gunmen waited silently for them until they were within a few yards, then opened fire. The agents crumpled to the ground without getting off a single shot.
One of the agents had fallen near the crates, and Tucker could see him: young, scared, coughing up blood. His eyes met Tucker's, and the two boys stared at each other, so alike, yet so different, both fighting for the cause they thought was right. The terrified blue eyes burned into Tucker's soul, and he wondered if the boy had ever considered that his life might end this way, watching his blood seep into the cracks in the asphalt. "I should have known," the young agent whispered. "I should have listened. Oh, why?" He flung his arms over his face as a gunman rolled him over with a boot, and his piercing scream of fright was abruptly cut off by a shot.
Tucker lay still and said nothing, for the guns were now trained on him. "Who are you?" the gunmen demanded.
"Tucker Smith." Tucker knew that his life depended on total honesty at this moment as much as it might depend on total dishonesty in but a few minutes.
One of the men pulled out an iPod Touch, worked with it a moment, then said, "Resistance kid. Got a reward on his head."
"How much?"
"Two hundred and fifty thousand."
"Two hundred and fifty thousand WHAT?"
"Dollars."
"Alright, kid. You run, and watch out for them agents."
Tucker ran.
Several minutes later, he reached his home. The doors were locked, as usual, but his sister, Angela, had seen him coming and swung the back door open before he could knock. The house smelled of chicken and old books. His mother was at the stove, stirring a stew, his father was reading the latest Resistance newsletter, and his younger brother, Darcy, was sitting on a stool at the counter, building a laptop, a carrot clenched between his teeth. Angela flung her arms around Tucker's neck and bent her head to his shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked as he broke the embrace.
"Yeah," he said, "just shook up."
Angela flung an arm around his shoulders as they walked to the table. She was as tall as he and quite slender. Her voice was deep and rich, like dark chocolate, and sometimes, like now, Tucker would forget that she was a girl. "What happened?" she asked. "You're all sweaty."
"I got shot at." Everyone in the family turned and looked at him as he sank into his chair. "Agents found me over by fifth. I was just about caught a couple of times and had to run to Three-fold. The Revenge got them; just about got me, too." Tucker thought again of the young agent he had seen die and shivered. Until now, the government had been faceless, the rumor of a nameless hatred that destroyed you, piece by piece. For the first time in his life, Tucker had seen past the sunglasses, identical uniforms and aura of invincibility. And he had not seen a hate-filled beast, but a fellow human whose eyes begged forgiveness, asked him to somehow halt the terrible death...the scream, the shot....Who was the monster, the Resistance, the Revenge, the government, the people who had brought them to this? So this is civil war. he thought. Father against son, brother against brother, the bloody history of mankind and their struggle for liberty.
The Resistance radio broadcast was coming on again. The family leaned forwards and ate in silence, listening to the news of the day that one would not get from main-stream media sources. Surprisingly, the broadcast continued. Usually, the government managed to stop them after half-an-hour or so, but not this time. This time, it continued for over two hours before the signal was finally taken over.
"Meeep!" said the radio. "This signal is being traced. If you are listening to this broadcast, you will be found and shot. Meeeeeep! Blip, blop, Meeeeeeeep!!!" They turned it off and Tucker fiddled with the buttons on the short-wave. Through the background of soft static came a transmission from the Texas stations and the slightly nasal voice of a Country Music star drifted through the kitchen.
"Oh tell me, tell me,
Is the world gone crazy,
Or am I livin' in a dream?"
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May. 30, 2009 Escape from the Castle
She stood in the dusk, heedless of the wind that whipped her hair about her face, mindful only of the salty drops that slid down her face, clear as her name, Crystal. The view spilled before her green eyes was beautiful, but she was beyond noticing it. Her brother, seeing her trembling shoulders, came up behind her and gently laid a hand on them. She flinched at his touch.
"Walker?"
"Yes, it's me. Don't turn around. It's hard enough without..." he trailed off.
She turned around anyway, looking up into her brother's face for the first time in her life. His blue eyes, once green, had never had to angle downwards to look into her eyes, but Walker was a foot taller than he had been the day before, and he towered over his sister.
Walker felt the shiver that ran through her when she saw him and felt a stirring of anger and sadness; anger at the wicked enchantress who had altered his appearance for nothing more, it seemed, than her own amusement, and sadness that his sister should have fear in her eyes when she looked at him. Crystal saw the pain in her brother's expression and understood it. She, too, had had her appearance altered, though not the same extreme as Walker. The enchantress, in testing a potion, had made Crystal beautiful, almost beyond compare. Crystal hated it. Ravishing females had far more to worry about than girls with average appearances.
"Why?" she whispered, turning away from her brother and leaning on the railing of the small balcony on which she stood.
"I don't know," said Walker, coming to her side.
"How can life ever be the same again?" Crystal asked softly.
"It can't be," Walker replied blandly.
"Why is that so hard to accept?"
Walker shrugged. "Maybe 'cause we like normality."
"I've got to keep holding on to the hope that maybe it'll all be normal again."
Walker turned away from her. "It's a dead hope," he said, his voice holding a tinge of bitterness.
"Why?"
He spun back to her. "Why do you think?! That enchantress has altered my appearance, and you, my sister, didn't know me! How could I possibly expect anyone else to? I'm not Walker Firestone anymore. I'm turning into a strange person that I don't even recognize!"
"No, Walker. You're still the same, to me at least."
"I won't be if we stay here much longer," Walker muttered.
"Walker...."
"That's it! We're escaping."
"What? How?"
"I don't know. But we can't stay here."
"Are you mad!?" Crystal cried.
"Much more of this confinement and I will be."
Crystal slept restlessly that night. Walker paced the room, sliding his hands over the green walls, peeking behind the blue curtains, moving the mismatched furniture around. He muttered to himself constantly, playing out theoretical scenarios one after the other under his breath. At last he leaned against the wall. With a moan, he slid down it and dropped his face in his hands. "No. No. No...." he whispered.
Crystal watched him, peering through the darkness, tears pooling in her eyes. He hated to see her brother look so defeated. He leaned his head back against the wall with a dull thud, staring bleakly out the window.
A hair-thin crack ran up the wall. Suddenly, a piece of plaster crashed to the floor. Walker jumped up, starring at the wall. Crystal jumped up from her couch and ran to his side. There was a shudder, and a six foot square area of the wall opened. Musty, stale air drifted towards them. An icy breeze came from the black hole, tugging at their clothing. Crystal shivered in her shift. More plaster fell to the floor, covering it in white powder.
"Quickly, Crystal. Get your things," said Walker. "That plaster falling is certain to draw the enchantress." He ran to their couches and grabbed the blankets. Crystal pulled on her threadbare dress and picked up a battered comb; all that she had. Walker put a blanket over her shoulders like a cloak, then flung another blanket around himself. Grabbing her hand, he led her over to the passage. After hesitating a moment, they entered it. It turned immediately, and a few steps later, everything was pitch black. Crystal shrieked and clung to her brother. Slime dripped from the ceiling. Moss and other fungi's that, somehow, needed no light, hung from the beams and traced across their faces and shoulders.
Walker put an arm around Crystal and pulled her forwards, groping in front of them with a hand. Crystal screamed once more as her foot caught in something. Walker pulled her free but slipped on the floor. They fell, and only after much scrambling did they regain their feet. In the slick passage, they stumbled many times. The corridor twisted and turned, always leading steeply downwards. At last, Walker and Crystal came to a steep flight of stairs. They struggled down it, feeling blindly about them in the darkness. Walker lost his footing. Bending to save him, Crystal slipped and fell after him. They tumbled down the stairwell and crashed into a wall. Pulling themselves up by the wall, they groped forwards, searching for the next leg of the passage. Then their feet touched nothing and they fell into inky blackness.
A massive splash sounded as they reached the end of their fall. They rose from the water, gasping. Crystal screamed and went under, swallowing water. Frantically, she clawed her way back to the surface. A pale green light slowly illuminated their surroundings. They were in a cave. The walls were smooth. Ten feet up, there was a balcony. The enchantress stood on it; it was the end of her wand that created the green glow.
"How do you like my arena?" she asked them. "I made certain that all the passages in this castle led here. You get a log and a sword. The moat is that way. If you can get out, you are free. If." She laughed. The deep pool of water in the cave was suddenly illuminated from the side under the water, turning the water to green glass. Crystal screamed again as she looked downwards; the bottom of the lagoon was strewn with bones. There was a splash as a log fell into the water, a sword embedded in it. Walker and Crystal swam towards it and grabbed hold of it, panting and glad that they no longer had to tread water. Walker pulled off his blanket cloak and laid it over the log, then kicked off his boots. With a determined look, he seized the sword in one hand. Kicking their feet, brother and sister began to head towards the moat.
The water near the entrance roiled. A sea-serpent raced towards them, mouth open. Walker stabbed at it. It rolled away. Taking a breath, Walker dove after it. Crystal could see him, suspended in the clear water across from the serpent, his sword glittering in the eerie light. He swiftly collided with the beast, and took hold of it, grasping at its scales. The serpent thrashed, and the distorted shapes Crystal saw told her nothing. Walker surfaced grabbing air, then dove into the troubled water again. Looking up, Crystal could see the enchantress looking downwards at them, her dress the same green as the water and her skin a ghastly color because of the reflection. Her black hair swirled about her as she laughed at the blood that came to the surface of the quieting water.
Crystal's heart seemed to stop. Then Walker surfaced, sucking in the air with huge gulps. The serpent surfaced as well, but belly up, blood streaming from its mortal wound. Crystal kicked the log over to Walker, and he threw an arm over it, still panting. Crystal took the sword from his weakening hands and began to guide the log towards the moat again. Another serpent came at them. Crystal trembled with terror, knowing that Walker could not fight again yet.
"Right behind the skull," Walker gasped to her.
Crystal pushed away from the log and dove under the water. The weight of her dress carried her downwards swiftly. Her hair floated around her as she opened her eyes. Kicking slightly, she was able to stop her descent. The serpent came at her, roaring soundlessly. Crystal thought of the tales of dragons that she had heard, for it was as if the beast was flying. The shock waves of water buffeted her. In the first collision with the beast, she failed to strike the vital place behind the skull. The sea-snake hurtled past her to the bottom of the lagoon, where it began to turn around for another charge. Crystal returned to the surface, pulled in a deep breath of hair and dove to meet it. This time, she followed Walker's example and grabbed ahold of the snake. It rolled wildly. Drawing back the sword, she plunged it all the way through the serpent's neck. It convulsed, then died. The body began to drift towards the surface, and Crystal let it carry her. Coming up, she breathed in the sweet air in great gulps. Walker grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm over the log, supporting her. Nothing else challenged them as the dark eyes of the enchantress watched them drift out into the moat.
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May. 24, 2009 Jasper's Conversion
As a matter of fact, the mission was unusual, for nothing happened. Both mentor and student had expected to run into serious difficulties, considering the condition of the Scout they were replacing, but apparently he had cleaned out all the antagonists in the area when he was wounded. Even the elements were oddly cooperative. This gave Jasper more time to think and ask on-field questions than usual, and the conversation began turning to religion quite often. Jasper had come a long way from that first conversation with Jack in the attic, but he still lived in terror of the gods, both those of the plains and the Lord. This left him divided. The gods required that he serve them, the Lord required that he serve Him and Him alone. Jasper could not serve both, but neither could he choose one without invoking the wrath of the other. It came down to deciding on which was real and which was the invention of man. Neither existing was not an option for Jasper - he was convinced that there was some sort of deity. If there wasn't, where had the world come from and why did things like snowflakes look like the work of a master craftsman? Why were the stars scattered across the sky in patterns that looked like archers, dragons, or other recognizable shapes, and why did the tip of the Great Horn always point to the north? There were too many proofs for him to ignore.
The question burst out of him one night beside the campfire. "What about the third condition?"
"What?" The confused look on Jonathan's face made Jasper realize that he needed to explain what he had been thinking about before going further.
"Ryan did a lesson one night about the three conditions. But he...as he covered everything the Lord did, living a perfect life and then willingly giving it up - it only covered the first two! So what about the third condition?"
"The guilty accepting the sacrifice of the innocent?"
"Yes. How does one do that?"
"You have to die," said Jonathan, "and you have to be buried."
"As the Lord was?"
"Yes. If we are united with Him in His death, we shall be united with Him in His resurrection."
"Did you die?" Jasper asked slowly, after mulling this over.
"Yes," said Jonathan.
"So...this must not be a...uh...death death."
"Physical death, you mean?"
"Yes," said Jasper. "So how is it done?"
"Well, you die, meaning that you utterly forsake your former way of life and commit yourself to living in a way that will please the Lord."
"And the burial?"
"That is done in water. It symbolizes the grave."
"And resurrection?"
"That is when you come up out of the water."
"So what, in short, does the Lord want from me?"
Jonathan looked Jasper straight in the eye. 'Everything."
"Isn't that a little, well, drastic? I mean...everything! It's too much!"
"It's no more than He asked of Himself. While He was here, He devoted himself to teaching and caring for people. When He died, He gave His life for you so that the powers of evil would have no power over you. He gave all He had to give and then some."
Jasper was shaking his head. "Still..."
"Life is easier when you are in His hands, too. I know, it looks rougher; you have to give up things that look good, but later, it pays off. You live a life with fewer regrets, and the regrets you do have are from times when you strayed from His ways."
"Ryan once said that is was a terrible thing to fall into the hands of God," Jasper commented.
"God is perfect and just. If all of us got our just deserts, we would die, for no one is perfect, and God cannot accept someone who is not perfect. But what has been done in His sacrifice allows us to fall into the hands of God without the stains of our past life, and God is not only just, but loving and merciful."
"So, let's say I give God everything, what do I get?"
"You get the privilege to stand in the presence of God as his child, holy and loved beyond measure." Jonathan watched Jasper's face for a moment, then said, "You take the first watch and think." He rolled himself into a blanket.
Jasper sat and pondered. Everything. Everything. He pulled up his knees and rested his chin on them. When you give someone everything you have to give, you give them your very self. He considered similar happenings back on the plains that he knew of; debtors who could not pay back the money that had been loaned to them and so had to give up everything of value that was their's - even themselves. When you give someone yourself, you belong to them, and they can deal with you as they like; you have no rights. But when you give God everything, he makes you his child...after he gave you the ability to even approach him to give him everything.
Now that I consider it, what do I have that I can truly call mine? Myself, my life, and my family; Kaia and the Breakers. But God created me and gave me life, so those are a gift from him. And God granted that my sister would be born into my family, so she is a gift from him. And then he granted me my second family after I lost my first, so they are a gift from him as well. So in the end, God gives me everything I have and gets nothing back but a willing heart, and that only if I come to Him. To me, it seems he asks so much, and yet, in truth, it's not hardly worth anything at all. But somehow, it's enough.
Jasper had stopped wearing his talisman after he became a Scout Student, but he had never put it from his person. It had ridden in a little pocket for some time, now he drew it out. 'Everything' is still hard, but I'll start here. He dropped the talisman into the fire. Slowly, as the night went on and the wind moaned its lonely way through the pines, he began to give up the hatreds and grudges he had held within him. A thing Ryan had said helped him in this. "Hatred and grudges don't die in a day, and you won't ever be completely free of them in this life. The important part is not so much getting to a place where you don't have those thoughts as it is getting to a place where you surrender those thoughts to God as soon as you have them. Giving yourself to God is a starting point, not the finish line."
It was at that moment that Jasper realized that Jonathan had only been pretending to be asleep. Jonathan now looked keenly at Jasper. "There's a deep creek down thataway," he said, meaning that he was willing to immerse Jasper on the spot if Jasper wanted him to.
Jasper hesitated. They were on a mission. The Aranara could fall on them any minute that they were not on guard. But then Jasper decided that the Lord was more important than the Aranara; if he got himself killed doing what the Lord had commanded, so be it. "Let's go."
The water in the creek was ice cold and took Jasper's breath away as Jonathan lowered him under it. When they came up out of the water, Jonathan left Jasper alone on the creek's bank, sensing his student's desire for solitude.
A shining light came from the trees, and Jasper turned. The light was brighter than midday, and yet Jasper felt no need to shield his eyes. He became aware of a presence, awesome and powerful. Jasper trembled as the majestic figure emerged from the light, but he felt no terror. Instead, he looked into the figure's deep, ageless eyes, his heart throbbing with alternate joy and fear. The figure stepped forwards and laid his hands on Jasper's shoulders. Jasper stood and shook, his blood flying through his veins many times faster than it should have.
"Be still," said the figure gently. Jasper shivered once more in response to the figures deep, unearthly voice, then stood still. "Tell me your heart," the Lord said, beginning to walk.
"I daresay You know it better than I myself, Lord," said Jasper, naturally falling into step beside Him.
The Lord smiled. "I know everything, Jasper, but that does not mean that I do not enjoy it when My children talk to Me about what they think and feel."
Jasper's mind was blank for a time, but then a question he had wanted to ask for a long time came to him. "Why did my parents die? Why couldn't we have just stayed the happy family that we were?" Emotion poured into him at a rate he would not have thought possible, and tears started pouring down his cheeks like a spring thaw. In front of anyone else, he would have been embaressed to be crying so hard, but here, it seemed natural to let emotions surface and play themselves out, since there was a tangible sense of not being able to hide them.
"I have a plan for you, Jasper, and it involves you being here, in the mountains. If your parents had not died in the plague, you would have been brought here a different way; a way that would have been far more painful."
"What would have happened?"
The Lord reached up and wiped the tears from Jasper's face. "It is not for you to know what would of happened, for that knowledge would only hurt you. What did happen is far more important."
"Is that why I was adopted into the Johnson family and engaged," Jasper flinched at the memory, "to Misty? So that I would run away?"
"One of the reasons, and the only reason you are to know for now."
"Why can't I know the other reasons?" Jasper burst out.
"Because they will be revealed in due time, and it is not a good idea to rush such things. At this time, you are not yet ready to accept the other reasons."
They walked a little further, then sat down near a small cataract. "Will I ever see my sister again?" Jasper asked.
"You will."
"I was so angry, being separated from her like that. I never thought of myself as an angry person, but I was angry. Angry at the people who took my sister from me, angry at Misty for treating me like she did, angry at the Johnsons for pledging her to me with no regard to how I felt. Did...did all of those things have a reason?"
"Nothing that happens happens for no reason. The reason may be quite small, but there is still a reason."
The longer they spoke, the more words poured out of Jasper. It was as if his heart had become a book that lay open on the rocks for them to read. He did not know how long they stayed there; time seemed not to exist when the Lord was present. At last, the Lord rose to leave.
"Will I see you again?" asked Jasper wistfully, looking up at him and feeling like a time of joy and healing was drawing to a close.
The Lord looked at him gently and placed His hands on his shoulders. "Yes, you will. But, until then, always remember: No matter where you are, I can always hear and see you. Read the Words that I left with you, talk to Me, and I shall be with you, always, even at the very ends of the world." Turning, He melted away into the trees.
Jasper returned softly to camp. Jonathan lay on his back, breathing quietly. Jasper lay down on the other side of the fire, curled into his cloak and a wool blanket, and fell asleep. |
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May. 20, 2009 Random stuff from an author's head
This is a random scene from a book that may or may not ever be written. Neither the plot nor the characters are fully hashed out yet.
Jason banged his head methodically against the wall as the pouring rain drizzled off the eves. This was idiodic. Through the thud of his head on the wood, he heard a step and looked up. She was watching him. Oh no.
"Are you okay?" she asked, coming towards him worriedly.
"Um...yeah," he sputtered. I was just...banging my head against the wall."
"And you're okay?"
He nodded emphatically.
"Really, Jason." She stepped closer and touched his arm
Jason jumped backwards and tripped on his own feet, tumbling to the floor like an oversized spider.
"Jason," she said, "You are not okay." Her voice was placid, matter-of-fact.
Jason scrambled to his feet. "I'm fine. I just...bang my head against the wall every now and again...uh...to make sure that, um, my skull isn't hollow or something....like...that......" He waved his hand vaguely. That sounded rediculous.
She smiled. "Sure you do. Really, I can tell when people don't feel okay. Can you tell me what the matter is?" She approached to conversation distance again.
Jason backed frantically away, ending up in a corner. Must. Become. Part. Of. Wall.
She came within a few feet of him. "Well?"
"You make me act weird!" he burst out, frustrated with her and himself.
"I'm sorry," she said honestly. "I don't mean to."
"No...I mean, yes. I mean...uh....I'm sure you do...don't." He winced.
Silence prevailed.
"Nice day, isn't it," Jason said, trying at some rare conversation. Making small talk with people was not something he ever did.
Lightning charred the middle of the street, and the building shook in the answering crash. The rain came down harder and a leak opened between them.
"It's stormy outside," she said.
"Um, I know. I, uh, find the thunder quite.....invigourating. Very loud and....smashy...ish." He flicked his eyes nervously about the room, glad that no one was watching this.
"Yes," she said politely. Then her eyes grew more serious. "Jason, I lied. I'm sorry. You were in my dream, just not the last one, the one that brought me here. Until that last time, you always ran above me in the castle. Knowing you were there made me feel protected."
Jason dropped to one knee and tightened his boot straps to hide his rapidly paleing features. She couldn't be the girl he'd dreamed of, running below him, toward whom he felt such a strong protective instinct that he would have dug the heart of whoever dared to harm her out of their chest with a spoon. "I must go."
"Why?" she asked. "You barely got here, and it's raining."
"Orcs," he replied. The words came so fast that they tripped over each other. "They're a dreadful nusince, and that's putting it lightly." He stood up.
"But they haven't been out of the Hole for years!!"
"And I must make sure it stays that way." He jumped out the window and bolted, leaping onto his horse and riding away on the wings of the wind.
Jason Coralvin, for the first time in his life, ran from something not dangerous to his well-being. |
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